Chapter Eight
Theo
Bridezilla’s and playdates
I float home on cloud nine.
My audition and interview went extremely well and they had me reading for the director of a local commercial shoot with an ad agency. It would require just a day of filming in July and the take home pay I’d receive could easily cover my living expenses for the next six months. Especially since I’m still living rent-free at Patrick’s.
The other good news came in the form of a call from the show producer, Niles, of theActing OUTtheater company. Not only had my play been selected as their one and only summer performance project, but my application for director was also approved.
It seriously felt like I’d just won the lottery.
All my cares and financial problems had literally been wiped away with these two events. And the first thing I wanted to do was tell someone. But not just anyone; Joey.
By the time I’d gotten home around three, she was no longer in Patrick’s apartment. While I expected that, I still felt the loss of her company. We had such a great time together last night; at least, I thought we had.
Joey is such an easy soul to talk to. She’s funny, smart, a wee-bit of a smart-ass, and lest not forget, sexy-as-hell.
Those legs of hers haunted me in my dreams all night long. So much so that I had to quietly take care of my morning wood while I showered this morning.
Maybe that release gave me the inspiration I needed for the commercial casting audition. Ironically enough, the commercial is for a new brand of erectile dysfunction pharmaceuticals. I might be hawking the product, but I certainly am not the target audience with the sexual thoughts of Joey running through my head on a constant loop.
I open the door to the apartment and expect a very exuberant and wiggly dog to be circling my feet. But the place is silent and there’s no Woody anywhere to be found.
“Woody?” I call out and get no response. Logically I know he’s not going to verbally yell out, “Hey dude, over here!” – but you’d think I’d get something in return. A bark or yip or the sound of his little paws running across the hardwood floors.
And if not that, I’d expect to see him lying on his puffy dog bed by the doorway, waiting for my arrival. But not so today.
I check around the apartment to confirm, just in case he’s playing hide-and-seek, which I know sounds ridiculous, but I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s a goofy and smart little fella.
But my search proves futile and turns up empty, no Woody in sight. Then I wonder if maybe he’s next door with Joey.
Closing the apartment door behind me, I walk the forty-feet to 2B and knock.
I hear whimpering, a muffled noise and the sound of scampering doggie feet.
A sigh of relief slips out of my mouth when I hear him, but as soon as the door swings open and I catch sight of Joey’s face, my heart stops beating.
Panic races through my veins. I can see the tight scowl and the agitation rolling off her body.
“What the hell, Joey? Is everything okay?”
She grunts and turns back toward her living room, her shoulders tight with rage.
It’s such a weird dichotomy from her normal self. She’s usually so happy and bright-eyed, so this takes me back a bit. I take this as my cue to let myself in and bend down to pick up Woody who is circling at my feet. He gives me a wet lick across my cheek and chuckle.
See? I know how to make friends with dogs. Of course, he still has me by the shorthairs versus the other way around.
“Good to see you, too, Woods.”
When I sit down on the sofa next to Joey, I let the squirmy dog out of my arms and he immediately snuggles onto her lap.
My thoughts are all over the place, uncertainty washing over me as to what has doused the normal joy in her expression.
“Joey,” I hesitantly begin, placing a hand on her leg. “What’s wrong? You don’t look so good.”
I get a glare for that comment but I don’t look away.
